Of Love and Hatred
by 7557
Summary: Alfred seeks revenge from the man who killed his father. But what happens when he falls in love with his enemy's daughter? AmeCan, Fem!Canada. Human names used. Warning: character deaths
1. Chapter 1

"Thanks, dad," the boy smiled, "I had fun today." "Well, it's my son's birthday, after all," The blonde man replied, his emerald eyes shone bright with kindness. "Of course it's my duty to make you happy, especially today." A wide grin decorated his handsome face.

Not another minute later, they both heard the voices of many men downstairs, shouting. Feeling alarmed, the father leapt off the bed, ran to the window and looked down. His face immediately changed into that of shock and anger. "Bonnefoy," he hissed through gritted teeth. He ran back to his son and grabbed his hand, "let's go, son," he said, his eyes alert and vicious. "Why? Is Uncle Francis here? Are we meeting him?" the boy asked, oblivious to the changes in his father's composure. His father said nothing, but instead yanked the boy's hand and they were off running towards the staircase. They almost reached the back door when a familiar figure stopped them in their path.

"Hello, Arthur," the man said, pointing the barrel of his gun towards the father and child. "RUN!" Arthur yelled, and pushed his son towards the opposite direction. A deafening bang was heard and the boy stared wide eyed as Arthur stumbled forward, fresh blood gushing out of his left shoulder. The same bullet scratched the boy's right forearm, enough to draw blood and leave a scar. Just before he hit the floor Arthur got back on both feet and turned to another corridor. The second bullet just barely missed him.

They both ran until they reached a hidden door at the side of the mansion. "Go, run to the city and don't stop." Arthur said while panting, right hand pressed on his wound, trying fruitlessly to stop the flow of blood. "No, come with me, dad. You can do it," the boy had started crying, and his small fingers won't let go of his father's sleeve. "You'll be fine, son. Even if I go with you, I won't be able to protect you. It is me that they want. If I stay at least I'll save your life," he said with the best smile he can make. The boy didn't say anything, just sobbing and hiccupping through his tears.

Taking his right hand off his wound and wiped it lightly on his shirt, Arthur gave his son one last hug, and whispered to his ears, "Alfred. Alfred Kirkland. Do not forget your name. You are my one and only beloved son." He pulled out of the embrace, and cupped the boy's face in both hands. "I love you. Now go. Run until you reach the city and don't stop." Alfred nodded, and turned to run with all his might.

After the boy was out of sight, Arthur leaned on the wall and let his body fall down to the floor. "I suppose I must congratulate you eh, Bonnefoy," he sneered with a smirk, his spirit from his delinquent youth returning to him, "for finally taking down the family of Arthur Kirkland. I reckon the rest of the men and women in my house are lying all over the place, dead by your men." He turned back his head, and eyed the figure his son recognized as Uncle Francis. "You won," he said grimly with a chuckle, "after all these years of playing tag." "It seems so," Francis replied darkly.

Arthur let out a sigh. "Well, what are you waiting for, you twat?" he said, as if mocking the other man, "Get on with it, will you. Taking so long just to take a dying man's life, just what I expected of you, bloody frog."

Alfred heard another gun shot. Despite his father's orders, he stopped and looked back, just to find his beloved home engulfed in flames. He clasped both hands over his mouth to stop the scream that was about to come out. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fist and ran to the city, only stopping when he ran out of strength and collapsed at the side of the road.

.

It was a wonderful morning, and the young couple decided to take a walk around the neighborhood when they saw a small body limped against a tree on the roadside. "Oh dear!" The wife exclaimed and ran to it, her husband following after. She scooted beside the body and examined the little boy. He appeared to be no older than 12 years old, his loose shirt heavily stained with blood, he was barefooted, and numerous scratches and dirt covered his limbs. "Are you alright, boy?" the husband called with concern and shook his shoulders. The boy's eyelids fluttered a bit before he opened his eyes, his gaze hazy and not focused. "Can you hear us?" the young woman held his hand. To their relief, the boy nodded. "What is your name, dear?" The boy's blue eyes landed a dreamy gaze on her. "Alfred," he mumbled, "I'm Alfred."


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up exactly 6.30 in the morning, and had his breakfast like he usually does; toast, eggs and a cup of black coffee. Everything was just like any other day. The difference was, he was no longer in America. Instead, he found himself back in his birthplace, a country that is known as the Republic of Anglo-French Union since 12 years ago.

Feeling much better after his daily intake of caffeine, he returned to his room and got dressed. A simple shirt, long pants, boots and a coat. "Come in," he said when someone knocked on his door. It opened, revealing a male servant he just recently hired. "Where would you like to go today, sir?" He asked after noticing his employer's outfit, ready to head out. "I figured I'd like to explore this place a bit. Maybe I'll go to the marketplace. Have my horse ready in 10 minutes, please." The servant nodded and left to do what he was asked.

Sighing, he sat down on his armchair. "I can't believe I'm back," he mumbled, one hand removed his glasses and the other rubbed his eyes. The memory of that night many years ago was still so vivid in his mind, and it still hurts just as much. A while later a maid appeared on his door, "Your horse is ready now, Sir Alfred," she said timidly. "Yes, I'll go now. Thank you," he said while rising from his seat. The maid nodded respectfully and left. Alfred stood up and stretched his back for a while. "Well," he thought, "better get going now."

.

"I'll be off now," she said while leaping onto her horse. "Are you sure you don't need any escort?" The blonde man asked her, concern decorated his deep voice. She chuckled a bit, "I'll be fine. I'm just going to the market. I've done this thousand of times before," she said with a smile. "Don't you worry, _Père_. I'll be back before you know it." The man sighed, "Yes, I know," he reached out a hand and held his daughter's hand tight, "_faire attention maintenant,mon cher_ Madeline." She smiled once again before bringing her horse to a run.

.

Alfred was just casually strolling around the marketplace in the late morning, devouring the somewhat familiar yet forgotten scene. He glanced at his pocket watch, 10.30 am. If he left now he'd have time to ride around the nearby park and be home in time for lunch. He was on his way to where he left his horse when he heard a disturbing sound.

"Come on, give it up already, miss," a coarse voice said, in a completely unpleasant tone. "Yeah, it's either your pretty necklace or your pretty little neck," a second voice added, a bit more threatening than the first. Fueled by curiosity, Alfred followed the voice to the back of a stall and hid behind a large plank of wood. He saw a young woman backed to the wooden wall of the stall, three large men surrounding her. One of them held a dagger to her neck. She just stood there; one hand clutched the pendant hanging on her neck, glaring bravely and viciously at them.

Alfred sighed and shook his head. Now that he's witnessed the scene there's no way he'd just leave as if he didn't notice them at the first place. He came out of his hiding place and calmly raised his voice, "Hey, don't you think it's not very nice to threaten a Lady? What gentlemen you are," he said, both fists on his hips.

"Huh? Who're you? Her lover or something?" He has all three men facing him now, and another one pulled a knife from his boot. "Nope, never seen her before in my life. Now if you'd be so kind to let her go I'd appreciate it very much. Otherwise some people will get hurt," he said calmly, but his face turned alarmingly dangerous and intimidating. The three men sneered, and all at once lunged at him.

For Alfred, handling three clumsy oversized men with blades is no problem at all, especially when he can smell alcohol from their breaths. With accurate strikes from his elbow and knee, the biggest of the trio fell unconscious immediately. As the remaining two charged at him, he kicked the smallest one away and locked the other's arms behind his back, causing the latter to scream in pain. "Watch out!" Alfred heard the girl shout, and as he turned his head, he saw the last of the trio thrust his dagger at him, but before he could react, the girl he was supposed to save landed a kick directly on the attacker's right ear, causing him to stumble sideways, hit his head on a rock, and finally lost consciousness. Alfred swiftly struck the back of the head of the man he's holding, and he too fainted.

Alfred stood up and dusted his pants. Then he turned to the girl and eyed her carefully. She has long blonde hair, slightly wavy and messy, left untied behind her back. A strange curl emerged from the top of her head, shaped into an opened loop at the end. A pair of glasses framed her mesmerizing violet eyes. She wore a simple white shirt, a knee-length skirt, black leggings and a pair of plain leather boots. "Nice kick back there," he said with a wide grin. She smiled back at him, "Thank you, also for jumping in to help me. That was very brave of you," he tried to ignore the fact that her clear, kind voice sent his heart pounding a bit. "Well," he said with a smug grin wide on his face, "I have to admit, I do have a heroic side to me." She laughed, and Alfred couldn't help thinking what a beautiful laugh that was.

"Very well," she chuckled, "what is your name, Mister Hero?" Alfred bowed, "Alfred F. Jones, at your service," said like a true gentleman. He stood straight again, "and you are?" The girl bowed and lifted the hem of her skirt. "Madeline," she said, ever so sweetly, "Madeline Williams Bonnefoy."

Alfred froze as she said her last name. Could it be… "What's wrong, Jones?" Madeline asked, noticing the shock in his face. "Oh, nothing. Are you by any chance related to Francis Bonnefoy?" he asked, heart thumping hard inside his ribcage. "Why, yes! I'm his daughter," she smiled again, "do you know my father?" "Yes, he's my late parents' business partner," Alfred forced a smile, "shall I escort you home, then? After we call the police, of course," he gestured to the three men lying unmoved on the ground. "Thank you, I'd very much appreciate that."

.

They arrived in her mansion just a little bit past noon. "Madeline,_ cher_! Where have you been? You said you'd be home by 11!" Alfred forced himself to keep his face neutral as a familiar figure burst out of the front door and approached them. "_Je suis désolé, Père._ Some thugs were bothering me in the market, but this man," Madeline gestured to Alfred as he climbed off his horse, "saved me. And he was kind enough to make sure I arrive home safely." Francis turned towards Alfred, who nodded his head respectfully. "You have my gratitude, young man." He paused as he noticed something. "Have we… met before?" "No we haven't, _Monsieur_ Bonnefoy, but I believe my late parents were your business partners from America. My name is Alfred F. Jones," He said, reaching out his right hand. "Ah, yes," Francis shook his hands, "I heard they died recently in an accident. I'm very sorry for your loss," he said apologetically. Alfred replied with a nod. "When did you arrive in London?" the older man asked. "Just yesterday evening, Sir." "I see. It must've been quite an exhausting trip."

Before Alfred could say another word, he was cut by a man suddenly emerging from inside the mansion. "Oi, Francis. What's gotten into you, suddenly leaving our meeting like that," a man with silver hair and blazing crimson eyes shouted as he approached the host. Behind him is a brunette with fairly tan complexion and friendly emerald eyes. "Sorry, Gilbert. It's just that my daughter has finally arrived home," Francis then turned to Alfred. "My apologies. These are my friends from Germany and Spain. That one is Gilbert Beilschmidt," he gestured to the silver haired man, "and that one is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." The brunette waved and grinned. "Who is this? Madeline's friend?" he asked. "Long story. I'll tell you later, Uncle Toni," Madeline smiled.

"Would you care to join us for lunch, Mister Jones?" Madeline blushed slightly at her father's request. Alfred smiled politely, "I'd love to, but I'm afraid my servants would be preparing lunch for me at home," "Nonsense, I'll send one of my men to your home and inform them you're having lunch with me. You're staying in your parents' old house, yes?" Alfred forced the friendliest smile he could make, "Yes, that's correct." "Excellent. Come now," he gestured to his three guests, inviting them to come in.

"_Tout à fait celui beau, n'est-il pas_?" Francis asked his daughter in fluent French as they walked to the dining hall. "_Père_!" Madeline smacked his father's shoulder as she blushed. "Why, thank you, sir. I appreciate it," Alfred replied. The rest of the group was rather surprised. "Do you speak French, Jones?" "Yes. I speak English, French, German, Portuguese and Italian. Just recently I started learning Spanish," he replied, a sense of confidence and pride in his voice.

Hearing that, the silver haired man stepped forward, "_Wie gut ist Ihr Deutsch_?" Alfred grinned a bit, "_Gut genug, um die gesamte Handlung von Romeo und Julia rezitieren und aufzuschreiben/umzuschreiben, ohne auch einmal in das Wörterbuch reinzuschauen._" A smirk appeared on the German's face and his eyes glinted with delight. "I like this guy," he turned to Francis. The latter just smiled and turned around. 'No, of course it's not him. No one has heard news of the boy ever since that day,' he thought, convincing himself as they entered the grand dining hall.

...

_Père_: father

_faire attention maintenant_: be careful now

_Je suis désolé_: I'm sorry

_Tout à fait celui beau, n'est-il pas_: Quite the handsome one, isn't he

_Wie gut ist Ihr Deutsch?: _How good is your German?

G_ut genug, um umschreiben und zu rezitieren das gesamte skript von Romeo und Julia, ohne auf das Wörterbuch einmal._:  
Good enough to rewrite and recite the whole script of Romeo and Juliet without looking at the dictionary once.


	3. Chapter 3

Since that day, they have been frequently spending time together. Going to concerts, riding horses at the countryside, strolling at the park and having lunch together. Just after a few months they seem to be very close with each other.

"My father," Madeline said, as they walked together in an orchard, "was a high ranking military personnel. He received orders directly from His Majesty King of France, before the unification." They sat on a bench. She drew a deep breath and continued, "I'm not sure why, but a while after the unification he requested an early retirement. I was worried because he seemed quite depressed and stressed out after he quit. Then he established this textile company he runs until now," Her face grew sad a bit. "As for my mother," she sighed, "she died before I can remember her face. It doesn't really matter now. I'll be fine as long as I have my father." She smiled.

'That was what I thought too,' Alfred thought to himself, 'until your father took him from me.'

"How about your family?" she asked, "If you don't mind telling me, that is." Alfred put up a convincing fake smile. "No, not at all. My father runs an import export company. His main branch is in New York, but he has network all over America and Europe. After he passed away his will stated that I am to be the one to inherit all his asset. Which means I was supposed to be the owner of his company." He sighed, "But seeing that I'm not nearly as experienced enough, I left his company to his right hand man while I go here to manage his branch in London."

'Madeline is a good friend,' he thought, 'how I wish to be able to tell her about my _real_ father.' "My mother was a teacher in her youth. That's why she insisted I learn about many different things such as several different languages, history, culture, science and so on. I'm grateful for that, though." He scratched the top of his head, grinning.

Madeline turned her head and cursed under her breath. 'Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous,' she thought, hiding her red cheeks. 'That careless, goofy grin, the bright, expressive, enthusiastic blue eyes, that messy blonde hair,' "Are you alright there, Maddie?" "Huh? Oh, y-y-yes!" She couldn't believe she's stuttering now of all times, "yes, I'm fine." Then she realized something, "Wait, what did you just call me?"

Alfred raised one eyebrow, still grinning. "Maddie. I think now that we've been quite close we can stop calling each other by our family names. I think Madeline is pretty, but Maddie seems easier to say and sounds cuter, don't you think? You can call me anything you like. Oh, but if you don't like it I won't call you that," Alfred said quickly, a tint of pink slightly visible on his cheeks. "Umm, w-w-well, I don't mind, actually," she said, feeling her face grew hotter.

Trying to change the subject, she rose from the bench. "Well then, Alfred," she smiled, "it's getting pretty hot here. Do you want to get some ice cream?" "Yeah!" he replied cheerily, "let's go! I know a new place that just opened, and they say the ice cream there is great."

.

"Welcome home, Sir Jones," a maid greeted him at the front door and took his coat. "Would you like to have dinner now?" "No, I ate already. I'll be going to bed now, so don't disturb me." "Certainly, Sir." She bowed slightly and left.

He entered his room but left the lights off. He let himself fall on the bed, facing the ceiling. He swung his right arm and placed it over his eyes, and sighed. "Damn it," he mumbled to himself, "What on earth have I done," He sighed again, this time longer and heavier. In his mind is only one thing; Madeline. He found himself loving the way she laughs, the way she scolds him, her voice, the way her eyes glow, the way she walk, the way her hair flows in the breeze, and the way her cheeks blush when he teases her.

He hates only one thing about her. And that is how she made his heart pounding uncontrollably when she did any of the things he loved about her.

He sighed again. With a grunt he turned so he lies on his belly and pulled a pillow under his chest, clutching it tightly. He tossed his glasses aside on the bed and buried his face in the pillow. "Oh Dad," he mumbled, "What do I do now?" With that he slowly drifted to a deep slumber, still thinking of her, and only her.


	4. Chapter 4

"Next Saturday?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "Yes! My birthday is on the 1st of July," she replied with a grin. "And my father insisted that he throws a party for me. I'd love it if you'd come. It's just a small party. I had to force my father so he won't invite the whole city," she giggled a bit.

Alfred was just staring absentmindedly at her, his blue eyes emitting a vibe she couldn't quite translate. "Alfred, are you listening?" she asked slowly, nudging at his sleeve. "Yes, of course. I'll be there," he smiled lightly. "Saturday, 7 pm. I'll definitely come."

.

"Alfred, you really came!" Madeline exclaimed with delight as she opened the door to a familiar figure. "Of course! I told you I'd come, didn't I?" Alfred grinned. He was wearing a set of black suit, navy blue shirt and a white rose corsage. He observed Madeline. She looked gorgeous in a white long sleeveless dress with red beads at the hem and the bust line. The dress fits on her small waist perfectly, emphasizing the beauty of her slender figure. Her hair was put up into a loose bun and a silver pendant at the shape of a maple leaf hung around her neck. Alfred handed her a large bouquet of roses and daisies and a huge polar bear doll. "Happy birthday, Maddie," he smiled as her eyes lit up with delight.

It was fairly a small party. At the bar Francis was drinking with his friends Gilbert and Antonio, and a muscular blonde man who appeared to be related with Gilbert. And by drinking it meant gulping down those alcoholic beverages until they were almost unable to stand straight, let alone walking around. Some of Madeline's friends and relatives are on the dance floor, moving along the music, while others are seated on the tables, enjoying a fantastic course of dinner.

Alfred stood leaning on a wall, a glass of wine in his hand. Madeline noticed that he was alone, and approached him. "Hey there," she said sheepishly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Alfred noticed the concern in her eyes, and smiled. "I'll be fine," he said, swirling his wine, "you go ahead and have fun." She felt guilty a bit, and leaned on the wall next to him.

"So," she said, wanting to start a conversation, "now you know my birthday, but I still don't know yours."

Alfred winced a bit at the question he was hoping he won't hear today. "4th of July," he said.

'That's just 3 days away!' Madeline thought. "But I never celebrate my birthday," he added before Madeline could respond. There was a bit of surprise in her face. "Why?" she asked, purely out of curiosity. His smile turned sorrowful. "I just don't. I don't see the point of celebrating it anyways." He replied, trying to sound as if there was nothing wrong. They were silent for a while.

"If you're thinking of throwing a surprise party for me," he said suddenly, "then please don't. I'll just feel upset." Madeline froze. 'How did he…' She smiled apologetically.

They were silent again. "At least can I give you a present?" she asked hopefully. He gave it a thought of it for a while. "Actually, yes." He turned to face her, his face serious. "Give me a day all to myself. That's all I ask of you." She was utterly surprised. Not wanting to upset him, she reluctantly nodded her head. "Thank you, Maddie. You're the best," he said with a grin.

"Madeline, come here!" one of her female friends called her. "One minute," she called back, and then turned to Alfred. "I'm sorry, I'll be going for a bit," she smiled apologetically. "Actually, I should be going too," Alfred stood straight, and handed his glass to a passing servant. He reached for Madeline's right hand with his own, held her fingers in his, bowed and kissed her hand. She's blushing like mad by now. Some of her friends were clapping and whistling at the sight of the two. "Atta girl, Madeline!" she heard someone shouted. How she's glad that her father's too drunk to register what was happening. She looked to the man before her, and he looked unaffected at all.

"I'll see you around, Maddie," he flashed his gentlemanly smile as he let go of her hand. "Uhh, yes. Of course. Umm, see you around," she part mumbled part spoke, "Bye now, Alfred." He waved at her as a servant lead him to the door. She turned back, face still as red as a tomato. "What are you looking at?" she stomped towards her friends, still clapping and laughing.

.

4th of July.

Today was the day Alfred turned 24, but he couldn't care less about that.

Today was the day his father was murdered, 13 years ago.

He woke up earlier than usual, ate much less than usual, and he was already riding on his horseback by 6.30 am. The sky was dull and grey, the wind chilly despite the season. The young man pulled his thin coat closer to his neck as he led his horse trotting along a painfully familiar road. After an hour of riding, he stopped on top of a hill overlooking what was left of his old home. The same hill on which as a child he stopped and looked back for the last time at his home, being engulfed and destroyed in flames. He felt a stinging pain in his chest, and he broke his horse to a run down the hill.

In front of a torn gate, he climbed off his horse, led it through the gates and tied its rope to what was left of one of the gate pillars. He stood in front of the front door, surprisingly intact. He inspected the condition of what once was a grand mansion.

The mansion stood on a large piece of land, surrounded by swirling metal bars forming an intricate design. There used to be an orchard and a vegetable garden at the back of the building, and many different types of flowers of different colors decorated the front yard. He'd loved it when spring comes. The gardens grew alive in a splash of colors, replacing the dullness and the monotonous days of winter.

The garden was now dry and barren. He could almost imagine his father's figure tending to his favorite rose bush. Gardening scissors in one hand, dressed in a plain shirt and pants rolled up to his knees. He'd never let anyone else tend to it. If he'd seen the condition as it is now, he'd definitely threw a fit of rage and he'd do everything in his might to restore it. As a boy, he'd always come over to his father, pleading to be allowed to hold the scissors and do the job himself. That had never been successful, though.

He carefully pressed the handle of the front door and gently pushed it inwards. Stepping inside, his heart fell at the horrible condition of the interior. Almost all the marble tiles are either chipped or missing. Beautiful paintings that once hang proudly on the corridors are now missing. Those paintings were ones his father especially shipped from Italy, picked only from the best of the best. He gritted his teeth in anger as he walked further inside the house.

None of the windows survived. He remembered how he used to press his nose to the window panes during snowy days, watching carefully the specks of white crystals fell from the sky and giggling gleefully as his breath caused the glass to blur.

He came across their old reading room. The fireplace was now dusty and without even a single twig to make fire. He shut his eyes as he remembered how they used to gather there during storms, warming themselves in front of the fire with hot chocolate and tea. His father would be in his usual armchair, reading books with titles he could not comprehend, while he himself would lie on the carpet, snuggling above a mountain of pillows reading his favorite children's book. He fought back a tear as he walked over to what was left of their old book case, running his fingers on the shelves, now horribly coated with dust and spiders' web.

The kitchen was his favorite place to hide in a game of hide and seek. With his petite build at that time, he could easily squeeze himself among pots and pans in the cupboard or hide under the stove. He also remembered attempting to bake cake with his father for his birthdays. Attempting was the key word. It always ended up with the cake being inedible, and they would laugh it off while licking the chocolate batter and icing sugar off their fingers.

He stumbled upon many other rooms, and each room brought back a different memory; both the good and the bad.

The walls were now mostly black, showing the scars from the blazing fire over a decade ago. Almost all the beautiful furniture they had was gone, and the ones left were very badly damaged. He lightly stroke his father's old prided coffee table, made of the best cherry wood and hand crafted by the best English craftsmen, now missing two of four legs and was broken in half by a blunt object.

He wandered around aimlessly around the house, until he found himself at the entrance to his old room. Surprisingly, it was still in a fairly good condition. Perhaps the raiders had thought nothing valuable would be found in a child's room and left it untouched. He opened a cabinet and inspected his old clothes and toys. He rummaged through the drawers below it, filing through a stack of doodles and small toys. Then he found it.

With shaking hands he picked up a picture frame. The frame was made of glass and it cracked at one side. He opened the back and pulled the picture inside it.

It was a picture of a young boy grinning from ear to ear, blue eyes glittering with delight, and a man holding him on his shoulders. His emerald eyes shone with pride and a gentle smile graced his perfectly shaped lips.

Alfred felt his knees grew weak and he dropped on the dusty floor. He wiped the dust off the photo with his sleeve and he pressed the picture to his chest. He didn't realize when the first tear fell. All he knew now is that the pain in his chest, his trembling shoulders and fingers, and that he was crying like he never did before.

How he missed his father. The man who had always scolded him and preached to him about being a proper gentleman; the man who told him bed time stories about fairies, elves, gnomes, and a world beyond his imagination; the man who would come running to him in the middle of the night when he screamed in his nightmare.

The man who loved him, and whom he loved back just as much.

.

When he decided to leave the mansion, or what was left of it, the sun had already set hours ago. He climbed onto his horse and led it to walk slowly, his eyes fixed on the mansion until it was out of view. He clenched his fists, and through gritted teeth he repeated a vow he made that day 13 years ago. "Don't worry, Dad," he whispered, "I'll avenge you. I swear I will."


	5. Chapter 5

It's about to get a bit steamy XDDD

"Hey Maddie, would you like to accompany me to this concert?" Alfred said suddenly one day, handing Madeline a ticket to an orchestra recital. She was clearly surprised. Normally it was her or her father who invited him to hang out together, not the other way around. She took the ticket from his hands and inspected it. Next Friday, 7.30 pm.

"Sure, I'm free that day," she said with a smile. Alfred sighed in relief and grinned. "Great! So, should I pick you up at 6 or something? We can have dinner together before going there," he scratched the top of his head, slightly blushing. "Oh, umm, yeah. Sure, dinner would be great," she said, her own cheeks were starting to feel warm. "Awesome! I'll see you Friday then."

.

Friday, 4 pm.

"Madeline c_her_," Francis knocked on her daughter's door. Hearing no reply, he deliberately opened the door, only to be greeted with a huge mess. To say he was surprised wasn't quite enough. Her room was never anywhere near messy before. But now, her bed and floor was all covered by her clothes, shoes, bags and numerous other things.

"_Mon Dieu,_ what on earth happened in here?" Francis exclaimed as he stepped on small floor spaces between her clothes, careful as to not damage any of the beautiful dresses. He saw Madeline in front of her wardrobe, rummaging through the contents. "Oh, _Père_! You should've knocked first!" Madeline said frowning, finally noticing his presence. "I did, but there was no reply."

He finally managed to cross the room, and he removed some of the dresses on her bed so he could sit down. "So, mind explaining to me what kind of tornado hit the room?" He asked, raising one eyebrow. Madeline giggled nervously, her face red. "Umm, well," she was fidgeting. "Alfred asked me to a concert with him," now one hand found her hair, playing with it. "So I thought maybe I should, I don't know, dress up a bit?" She chuckled nervously.

Francis stared wide eyed at his daughter wide eyed, not believing what he just heard. One moment later he burst into a huge fit of laughter, almost falling off the bed. "Why are you laughing?" Madeline screamed at him, her face even redder. Francis continued laughing for over three minutes, holding his now pained stomach. "_Je suis désolé_, I'm sorry," he wiped a tear from his eye, "I thought it was something more serious than that." "It IS serious,_ Père_!" Madeline approached her father, a bit irritated now.

She stopped in front of him, and he touched her cheek with his fingers. "You need to relax, _mon cher_," he said with a smile. "You're beautiful. You just have to be more confident and believe that." Madeline held her father's hand on her face and smiled. "You're my daughter, after all," Francis said with a grin. Madeline chuckled and punched his shoulder lightly.

Francis rose from the bed. "Well, I suppose I'll give you a hand. You know when it comes to this business there's no one better than your old man. Now, let's see what we have here…"

.

Alfred stepped down from his carriage and a maid led him inside the mansion. "Please wait for a moment here, Mister Jones," the maid said, "Miss Madeline will be here shortly." With that, she bowed lightly and left.

Alfred walked over to a large mirror in the lobby and inspected himself. He wore a set of black suit, formal black shoes, his favorite maroon shirt and a white necktie. A white handkerchief neatly tucked in his breast pocket. He straightened his necktie and sighed. Not a minute later, he heard the familiar voice he'd been waiting for.

"Sorry for the wait," Madeline said as she walked down the staircase. Alfred thought his heart stopped at the sight of her. She was wearing a long strapless black dress. She also wore white elbow length gloves and from under her skirt he could see her black stilettos. Her golden curls were left to fall neatly on her back. On her hand was a small silver purse. He couldn't stop himself from staring at her and thinking how gorgeous she looked. "Shall we go, then?" she asked timidly. At that he snapped out of his thoughts and escorted her into his carriage. Just before they exited the door Madeline her head turned to find her father hiding at the top of the staircase, grinning and giving her two thumbs up.

.

It was a wonderful night. Alfred had taken her to the best French restaurant in London, and the orchestra recital was amazing. The only problem was, by the time the concert finished, it was raining cats and dogs.

"Looks like there's a storm coming up," Alfred mumbled when they were already in the carriage, heading back home. Madeline stiffened a little. "Since my house is closer, why don't you spend the night at my place tonight?" he suggested, "I'll send one of my servants to deliver the message to your father."

Madeline was a bit surprised. Noticing that, Alfred smiled. "I'm confident that my servant can handle a storm of this caliber. But there's no way I'll send home a lady in this kind of weather, with a huge possibility that the road will be flooded."

She smiled. Seeing as there was no other way to it, she decided that it wasn't such a bad idea after all. "Alright," she sighed, "but I think I should write a note to my father. I think he won't be able to calm down before he sees my handwriting and signature," she added, giggling.

They arrived in his house a while later. It wasn't enough to be called a mansion, but it certainly was huge. Alfred turned to the driver before he entered the door. "Tom, go prepare a horse and deliver a note to the Bonnefoy mansion. Tell Mister Bonnefoy that his daughter is safe here." The man nodded and drove the carriage to the back of the house. Then Alfred turned to the maid that greeted them at the door. "Show Miss Bonnefoy here the way to the guest's bedroom. Prepare a change of clothes for her and tend to all her needs." The maid nodded. "Certainly, Sir. This way, please, Miss Bonnefoy," she said, gesturing for Madeline to follow her.

.

"Alfred, I-" Madeline entered Alfred's bedroom, only to find her host in the middle of removing his shirt. She blushed a deep shade of red and immediately closed the door again. "Ohmygosh I'm so sorry I should've knocked," she rapidly shot the words in panic. She heard him chuckle from inside the room. "That's alright," he said, "come in."

She slowly opened the door. But as she sees that he was still shirtless, her face heated up again. Alfred walked over and sat down at the edge of his bed. He lightly patted the space beside him, inviting her to sit next to him. She walked slowly and nervously, and sat at his right side. The room was dim. The only source of light was the lamp on his writing desk. The only sound audible was the sound of the rain beating the windows. Although Madeline could've sworn her heartbeat could be heard over the rain.

Madeline opened her mouth, breaking the silence. "I just wanted to thank you for tonight," she said sheepishly. "Umm, that's all I guess. I-I think I should be going to bed now," she said as she begun to rose from the bed. She stopped when she felt his fingers around her left wrist. "Don't say that," Alfred said, "keep me company for a while," he added with a smile. Seeing that irresistible smile, she had no choice other than to sit back down, fingers clutching the hem of her plain nightgown.

They stayed there in silence for a while. Madeline's eyes wandered around, and she found herself staring at the figure next to her. He was staring blankly in front of him. Her eyes traced the silhouette of his perfect nose, down to his lips, neck, then to his well-toned body. His presence was so strong in the room. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell his comforting scent. She caught her breath and felt her heart pounding rapidly as he absentmindedly ran his left hand through his hair.

Then her eyes fell onto a mark on his right forearm. It seemed like a scar, and the skin over it had thickened into a horizontal bump. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and touched it. Alfred flinched and turned to her, a bit surprised. She immediately realized what she was doing and pulled back her hand. "I-I'm sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up again for the umpteenth time of the day.

"No, it's fine," Alfred said grimly, "it's just an old wound that I got from a bullet. Thankfully it just scratched me." They fell silent again.

All of the sudden a huge thunderbolt broke off. Madeline jumped in her seat and reflexively hugged Alfred tightly. He was quite shocked. But as he felt her trembling shoulders he placed a hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly Madeline realized what she did and sat up straight again. "I'm sorry," she part spoke part screamed. Alfred eyed her red face. "Hey Maddie," he asked, "are you afraid of the thunder?"

Before she could say anything, another thunder roared, and Madeline's shoulders stiffened. Her lips were pressed together and her face looked as if she could faint any moment. But she was trying her best not to cling onto Alfred again. Seeing that, he wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders. "I'm guessing you are," he chuckled.

She was more shocked than embarrassed. But as another thunder rolled across the sky, she pushed all that aside and wrapped her arms around his back, shutting her eyes tight and burying her face in his chest.

They stayed like that for over an hour until the thunderstorm passed, although it was still raining heavily. When Madeline could hear no more thunders, she instead found herself pressing her ear to his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, and observing his breathing pattern. He felt so warm and safe.

Meanwhile, Alfred stared at the wall behind her in a futile attempt to calm his pounding heart, his face warm and tinted red. He realized her breathing had calmed down and her shoulders relaxed. 'Finally,' he thought, 'she stopped shaking.' He felt her shift her head, and looked down. As she looked up, his eyes found hers.

For a while they just gazed deep into each other's eyes. 'Damn,' he thought, 'somehow she looks very seductive right now.' He stared at her face. Her violet eyes, her cheeks, her fluttering eyelashes, her nose, her lips…

Her lips.

Unknowingly, he leaned forward, set her glasses aside, and his lips found hers.

At first, the kiss was soft and sweet. Then as quickly as it started, it changed into a deep, passionate kiss. Alfred leaned forward a bit more, and his weight caused both of them to fall on the bed. He rolled over so he was above her, his weight supported by his elbows. He placed his left hand under her head, grabbing at her golden locks and pulled her even closer. His right hand pinned her left to the bed, fingers intertwined with each other. He felt her other hand on his back, her fingertips pressing into his skin.

"Alf- mmhh," she tried to speak, but her voice was muffled as he pressed his lips tighter into hers. She shut her eyes tight as her skin shivered at the sensation. As she gasped for air, his tongue entered her opened mouth, and she flinched as it touched hers. She felt her knees grew weak and she unconsciously dug her nails into his back.

Finally they broke off. They were both panting heavily. Alfred saw the girl below him, and he snapped out of the trance.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, covering his mouth with the back of one hand. "I'm sorry," he said as he started to stand up. He felt like punching himself on the face right now. He froze as he felt her hands moving to the back of his neck, stopping him. He turned to look at her. Her face red, and her teary eyes reluctant. Coyly, she tugged at his neck, inviting him to lean down once again.

Seeing that he didn't move, she slowly moved her hands to remove his glasses, and placed it on the bed next to her, her eyes fixed on his the whole time. Then she wrapped her arms behind his neck and back, pulled herself up, and once again their lips met.

...

_Mon Dieu: _My God_  
_

_Je suis_ désolé: I'm sorry

_(mon) cher: _(my) dear

_père:_Father


	6. Chapter 6

They were strolling together in a park, and she was clinging onto his arm. A wide smile decorated her face, but she didn't realize that the smile he put on his was a fake one. Inside, Alfred had been agonizing since that stormy night a few weeks ago. At one side, he had a vow to fulfill. But he couldn't deny the fact that he was madly in love with the daughter of the man who killed his father.

He looked at the girl at his arm, talking idly about trivial things. 'Well,' he thought, 'it's time to end all this madness.'

"Madeline," he called as he stopped walking. She stared at him, a bit confused. He never called her Madeline.

He turned on his heel to face her, and then he dropped to one knee. He held her hand and pulled out a ring from his pocket.

.

"_Père_!" Madeline burst into his father's reading room, almost choking him with his tea. "_Mon Dieu_, Madeline. What is so important that you don't even have time to knock?" Francis said while wiping his mouth with a napkin, feeling a bit irritated. "Umm, I don't know," she was practically twirling around. "This, perhaps?" she said, holding out her left hand, showing off the white gold ring resting comfortably on her finger.

His face lit up all at once. "_Mon Dieu, _Madeline! I'm so happy for you!" he stood up, ran around his desk and hugged her tight. She just grinned and hugged back. Suddenly he pulled away and held her shoulders. "Do you know what this means?" Madeline raised an eyebrow. "It's time to hold a banquet!"

.

The day of the party arrived. After much arguing, they agreed to hold it in the Bonnefoy mansion. Of course, Francis had to go overboard and invite tons of people, including his old friends from the French military. Madeline peeked through the window of hers and Alfred's waiting room, looking at the impressive numbers of horse drawn carriages coming and going.

"So many people," she said nervously. She looked amazing in a long white dress, generously decorated with crystal beads and white roses. She turned and looked at Alfred, who was standing leaning on a sofa, hands in his pockets. Madeline couldn't help thinking how dashing he looked in his black suit with white shirt, black necktie and white rose corsage.

He gestured for her to come over and once she did, he linked his arms around her small waist and kissed her passionately.

He broke off after a while, gazing deep into her violet eyes. Then he pulled her into a tight embrace, and whispered in her ears. "I love you, Madeline Williams Bonnefoy." "I love you too, Alfred F. Jones," she whispered back with a smile. Hearing that, he shut his eyes to push back his tears and pulled her even closer.

'Good bye, my love.'

.

They entered the grand hall hand in hand. The crowd cheered and clapped. Slowly, they walked over to Francis in his seat. A wide smile graced Madeline's beautiful face. Alfred put on a thin smile, but inside he was in anguish.

As they were only a few steps away from Francis, Alfred broke free from Madeline's hand, and in one swift motion he pulled out a gun hidden in his suit and pointed it to Francis' head.

The whole room was in shock.

"Jones, what is the meaning of this?" Francis shouted, while Madeline could only stare in shock. Some of the men Francis knew from the military had already pulled out their guns and pointed them at Alfred.

"My name," Alfred said with a cold tone, "is Alfred Kirkland." Gasps and murmurs were heard among the crowd. "I am the sole surviving heir of the Kirkland family of Great Britain, and the only son," he glared at Francis viciously, "of Arthur Kirkland. The man you killed 13 years ago."

Madeline looked as if she could faint any moment, her eyes wide with disbelief and hurt.

"Alfred," she started, voice trembling. Every pair of eyes in the room was directed at her. "What are you saying. This is a joke, isn't it." It was more of a statement rather than a question. "Tell me it's a joke. This isn't funny, Alfred. Tell me it's a joke."

Alfred looked at her without any hint of emotion, despite his heart breaking into a million pieces. "This is not a joke." His voice was ice cold. "My only goal is to attain my vengeance. You were no more than a tool to assist me in achieving them."

Madeline couldn't believe her ears. Her tears immediately freefall from her eyes.

Seeing that, Alfred was taken aback for a bit. Noticing that split second of an opening, Francis swiftly swung his hand and tackled the gun off the younger man's hand, and caught it in his own. He might be retired, but he was still the same man who was once one of France's best Generals. He looked at him coldly as some servants approached them. "Take him away," Francis instructed them. As they fumbled to lock Alfred's hands, he looked at her in the eye.

"I hate you," she said, and broke into a run out of the room.

.

Alfred was thrown into the mansion's underground dungeon. He was sitting on the cold stone floor, leaning on the wall and staring blankly into space when the door opened, and Francis stepped in. "Leave us," he said to the guards, and they were left alone, with only metal bars between the two.

Francis sighed and leaned on the wall opposite to the younger man. They were silent for a while.

"He was your friend," Alfred hissed the words, and spat hatred at him. "You betrayed him." Francis looked at him coldly. "It was an order from the King of France himself to kill Arthur Kirkland, the only man who stood in the way between the unification of the Republic of Anglo-French Union under the rule of France."

Alfred gritted his teeth. "You selfish French bastards," he snarled, "My father was a respectable man. He was working from inside the Great Britain government to ensure the unification was solved peacefully. He was the only man who tried preventing a bloodbath. But you," he clenched both fists and pressed them to the floor until they bled, "you were the one who destroyed that last ray of hope. You were the one who killed my father with your own hands."

"Do you think I had a choice?" Francis snapped back at him.

It was dead silent for a while, both men shooting glares at each other.

"They threatened me," he finally said quietly, almost whispering. "They threatened to kill my daughter." His shoulders are now trembling furiously and he slid down to the floor. "If I refused to execute the orders, they were going to kill my precious Madeline. I didn't have a choice." Alfred froze. "It killed me to have done that. Why did you think I retired from the army after the unification finally occurred?"

"But still, I did pull the trigger. It was the bullets from my gun that took his life. I can't blame you for that," he looked to him teary eyed. "I have no excuse. Tell me one thing, though. If you wanted my life, you could've just tracked me down and send a bullet flying through my brain." He stood up straight again. "Why involve Madeline in this?"

Alfred sighed, and tilted his head upwards. "I wanted to make you feel my pain. The only person you hold dear, taken away from you by the person she trusted." His head slumped and he stared at the floor. "But I couldn't bring myself to point my gun to her. I was a fool to think I could pull this off."

Francis sighed, his own heart breaking. "I had a feeling you were that boy who escaped me that day. And a part of me was convinced that it was true. I didn't do anything about it, because I thought you were really in love with my daughter, and wouldn't lay a finger on her. Or was I mistaken?"

Alfred chuckled grimly. "No, you weren't. I love her with all my heart." His eyes were pained and a tear escaped.

Francis sighed. "I know you could've dodged me back there, if you wanted to. Even if you couldn't inflict the pain you experienced, at least you could've taken my life. Why didn't you?" Alfred sighed. "This is becoming more of an interrogation than answering one question," he mumbled. "As much as I hate you, I don't want Madeline of all people to feel what it's like to lose her father."

"If you hadn't pulled the gun back there, she'd never had to be hurt like this," Francis continued, "and you two would have been happy." He folded his arms in front of his chest. "You love her, and you have her love back. Why destroy it?"

"Because she loves Alfred F. Jones," he snapped at him, and he drew a deep breath. "She loves Alfred F. Jones, the image I created all these years for the sake of vengeance. Meanwhile she hated Alfred Kirkland, the man who pointed a gun at her father. I still haven't forgiven you, but this is no longer about you and me." He stared at the ceiling blankly. "I can't be Alfred F. Jones, knowing that I've been hurting her since the moment we met."

There was a long pause of deafening silence.

"There was a dozen of judges and lawyers present at the party, and a dozen more men who are experts of the law," Francis said grimly, "And they all agreed that your punishment would be death." Seeing that he didn't respond, Francis continued, "you will be executed 10 days from now."

Suddenly Alfred chuckled. "There's no point in delaying this any further, is there?" he said, as if mocking the man before him. "Why not make it tomorrow? It makes everything easier for all of us." He chuckled again. "Taking so long just to take the life of a man practically already on his deathbed, somehow that's just what I expected of you."

Francis was surprised at his reply. "That was exactly what your father had said before he died." Alfred's eyes widened. "Really, now. Like father like son. What is it with your perceptions about me, huh?" Francis smiled weakly. He gave it a thought, and finally continued, "Very well. Tomorrow it is. Then you should probably tell me your last wish now."

"Just one, then." He looked into the older man's eyes intently. "Do not speak of what we spoke of down here. Especially in front of Madeline."

Francis silently stood straight and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry, but I might not be able to fulfill that, kiddo." Alfred stood there, startled, as he watched him walk out and locked the huge wooden door behind him.

.

Madeline sat on her bed, hunched forward and buried her face between her knees. She was still crying, despite her puffy eyes and her coarse throat. Her eyes fell on the polar bear he gave her for her birthday a few months ago. She slowly moved forward and reached to grab it. She just stared at it, and then she suddenly shut her eyes and threw the bear across the room towards the door.

As if in a perfect synchronization, the door swung open just in time and the stuffed doll hit Francis' face. He staggered backwards a bit.

"Madeline," he called, still a bit surprised. "Go away," she replied coldly as she climbed under her blanket and hugged a pillow tight. Francis sighed, and he stepped forward towards the bed and sat down. In one quick motion he grabbed the blanket, pulled it off the bed completely and tossed it halfway across the floor.

Madeline flinched a bit, but she buried her face in the pillow, facing away from her father. "_Père_ I beg of you. Please leave me alone."

Francis sighed for the umpteenth time of the night. "Not until you've listened to what I have to tell you."


	7. Chapter 7

He sat there all night, in the corner of the small prison cell, arms around his knees. It felt weird, knowing he was only hours away from death. He sighed as he noticed the sky had started brightening up from the small barred window, signaling the arrival of dawn. 'It shouldn't be long now,' he thought as he closed his eyes and leaned his head backwards until it touched the black wall.

He flinched a bit as he heard the wooden door open. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. "Leave us," a raspy voice said sternly to the guards. He jumped up from his position when he realized who the owner of the voice was. He couldn't believe his eyes.

In front of him, beyond the metal bars that enclosed him, was Madeline. She was dressed in all black, her hair messy, her eyes puffy and red, and trails of tears marked her cheeks.

"Is it true?" she asked with a coarse voice. "What you said to my father. Is it true?" Alfred couldn't believe this. 'Denying the final wish of a man in a death row. What kind of joke is this,' he thought, laughing mockingly inside. "Well," he said, smiling slightly. No matter what, he was just happy to be able to see her again. "Would a man lie on his deathbed?"

At the same time, they walked over towards the metal barrier, looking deep into each other's eyes as they wrapped their fingers around the cold bars. In his eyes, guilt and sorrow. In hers, pain; but there was a glint of hopeful ray in them.

"Who are you?" she asked coldly. Alfred felt his heart drop, but he managed to pull himself together.

"Alfred Kirkland." She was silent for a moment.

"Does Alfred Kirkland love me?"She said the words slowly and carefully, but her voice trembled.

Alfred stared at her wide eyed, shocked beyond belief. He opened his mouth. "Yes," he spoke, every word felt heavy coming out of his mouth. "Alfred Kirkland loves you, with everything he's got."

A drop of tear trickled on her cheek. She reached out both hands to the back of his head, stood on her toes and brought his lips to meet hers. Alfred froze. Nevertheless, a moment later he put his hands around the metal bars and on her back, and kissed back.

They just stood there for the rest of their remaining time. She leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her hands around his back, holding him close. He rested his chin on her head, closing his eyes, inhaling her scent and listening to the pattern of her breathing. Neither wanted time to move on.

Both their shoulders tensed as they heard the wooden door unlocked, and Francis stepped in with some guards. "It's time," he said grimly, regret in his voice. Madeline stood straight, her hands still around his back. They looked at each other in the eyes, and then Alfred bent down to kiss her cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, quiet enough so only she could hear it. "I love you too," she replied, her voice coarse and trembling. As soon as he let go of her, the guards rushed to his side and cuffed his wrists. He looked at her eyes for one last time before they ushered him away, leaving her alone.

She felt her knees grow weak, and she dropped to the cold floor and covered her face with her hands, tears falling freely from her eyes. She just stayed there, crying and mourning for the love of her life, now forever taken away from her, leaving a void in her heart.

"If we can be reborn, I'll definitely fall in love with you again.

* * *

Finally this is over. Sucky ending sucks.  
The last line was based from vocaloid's Story of Evil.  
Critics welcome ;w;


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